


Count

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But it's cute I guess, Fluff, KageHina - Freeform, Kisses, M/M, Pining, a disaster, kagehina day, kageyama's big romantic awakening, oblivious idiots, super late kagehina day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: Kageyama’s first kiss was with a volleyball. He was six, and the smooth, cool leather stung where it smacked to his mouth. It tasted like dirt, like dust and gym shoes and a little bit like sweat, too, and it stole the breath from his lungs and took his two front teeth away with it.It...probably doesn’t count as a kiss, honestly, because balls don’t even have lips to kiss with, but it made him fall in love with volleyball the way real kisses make boys fall in love with girls on the playground, so Kageyama thinks it’s probably good enough. It didn’t matter that it hurt - that it bled, bust his nose and ripped his gums and stained his mouth in red and blue and purple - what mattered was that it was his first kiss, his best kiss, and nothing was ever, ever going to change that. His second kiss is with Hinata.





	Count

**Author's Note:**

> aaaAAAAH it's been a Very Long Time my bad but anyway this is a Mess and I am giving it to u anyway enjoy pls

Kageyama is used to waking up with Hinata by his side. It’s happened plenty, at training camps like this, or on busses, or sprawled over books and pens and paper when their homework got just a little _too_ boring, but today is...different.

Maybe, Kageyama thinks, it’s the way the sunlight shines through the window. It’s falling right on Hinata’s face - nose up, because the rest is buried beneath his blanket - and bright, thin beams dance in amongst the mess of his hair and sit on his eyelashes like raindrops. Kageyama never noticed how _long_ they are; so long they shadow the skin of his cheeks in the morning light.

Kageyama’s chest goes tight. It’s not a _bad_ feeling - it’s warm, fills him with a giddy, billowing kind of heat - but it’s...weird. Unusual. And it only gets worse when Hinata wakes up.

He does so slowly, blinking sleep-heavy eyes, and his face scrunches up around his nose as he adjusts to the sunlight. It’s nothing new, nothing Kageyama has never seen before, but the way his body melts deeper into his futon as he watches Hinata rouse himself is something wholly unexpected.

“Morning,” Hinata says, and his voice is all willowy and choked with sleep. Something hot unfurls lazily in Kageyama’s stomach.

He doesn’t say anything back, just watches the way Hinata unravels himself from his blankets. There’s nothing graceful about it, because Hinata’s legs are tangled in a mess of sheets like they _always_ are, and it takes some kicking to free himself but once he does, he stretches, archs himself over his futon until the hem of his shirt rides right the way up over his stomach.

It’s not like Kageyama has never _looked_ before. He’s seen Hinata naked millions of times, probably, in the bath or shower or when they’re changing between practices, so it shouldn’t be weird, but there’s something about the smooth stretch of skin that dries Kageyama’s tongue in his mouth.

“What time is it?”

Hinata’s lips tack together when he speaks, and Kageyama watches the peak of his tongue creep out to wet them until they’re shining, plump and pink and slack with fatigue, and Kageyama thinks, then, that it might be nice to kiss them.

Kageyama has never really thought about kissing. It’s just...not important, who he has kissed or hasn’t kissed or _wants_ to kiss; what’s important is volleyball, and sometimes schoolwork but only when it will directly affect his ability to play volleyball, and _sometimes_ homework, but only when it will directly affect the schoolwork that directly affects his ability to play volleyball.

So it’s more than a little weird, honestly, that it’s all he can think about now; what it might be like to feel Hinata’s mouth pressed against his own.

He doesn’t answer the question. Doesn’t, because Suga does, chimes up from across the floor, and Kageyama rolls his back to Hinata and fists his blanket in his fingers.

* * *

 

The thing is, Kageyama would maybe be okay with it if it only happened once. But as the day goes on, he finds more and more weird, obscure reasons to think kissing Hinata might be a good idea.

There’s the way he looks at him over breakfast, with his eyes all lidded and his mouth chewing idly. Then there’s the way he shuffles beside him while they’re changing, with a weird pink flush over his cheeks and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and then there’s the entire _day_ of practice, of Hinata running and jumping and yelling and none of this, really, is unusual. None of it is different. Not even the way Hinata keeps _blushing_ around him, like he's suddenly gone shy, or the way he keeps fidgetting with anything and everything whenever they're left alone. Or the way Kageyama keeps catching him staring when he thinks he can't see him, because these things have been getting more and more common over the last few weeks and Kageyama has come to accept that it's just another weird  _thing_ about Hinata. 

But he can't stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss him. To kiss him right on his stupid mouth.  

They stop for a water break, and Kageyama drops to a bench and rubs at his face with his towel. He’s sweating - they all are - so much that his shirt is sticking between his shoulderblades. He can hear Hinata’s quick footsteps, the squawk of his voice as he yells his thanks, and then things go quiet, and Kageyama lowers the towel from his eyes to see why.

Hinata’s head is tipped back, long, pale neck stretched under the glow of the gym lights, and Kageyama watches the bob of his throat as he drinks a few long, drawn mouthfuls from his bottle. There’s sweat on his lips where they’re pouted over the mouthpiece, drops budding and falling from his chin and the square line of his jaw, and Kageyama swallows, presses the towel over his nose and nips the fabric with his teeth.

He should _stop_ looking, really. He should, because Hinata’s eye is rolling, twisting to the side, and then it’s on him, right on his face and all Kageyama can think about is how good Hinata looks right now, like this, all hot and sweaty and tired and-

“Oi, _baka!_ What, you wanna fight?”

Kageyama blinks. Hinata is squaring up to him, bottle clutched hard in one fisted hand and Kageyama would like to fight back. He would, he’d love some kind of normalcy, but Hinata’s hair sticks in messy strands across his forehead, dangling into big, wide eyes and his lips are wet and shiny from his water, and Kageyama bites the towel a little harder and digs his brows into a frown.

He scrubs the towel hard over his face. Kageyama _knows_ he’s red, can feel the heat burning in his cheeks, and he scrubs from chin to crown and back again until it hurts before he drops the towel around his shoulders.

Hinata is still standing there, staring, fighting stance intact, but the moment Kageyama’s eyes land back on his face something... _weird_ happens.

He goes still, first; rigid from head to toe, and his eyes grow impossibly wider, and then his arms fall, sink slow like they’re weighted until his fingers curl loose into his palms and his arms hang limp at his sides, and a deep, pink sheen works it’s way up from his collar, over his neck and jaw until it settles tomato-red in his cheeks.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hinata’s water bottle slips from his fingers and clunks against the floor. He jerks, scrambles to pick it up and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he says, and a weird, nervous kind of laugh bubbles past his lips. He’s still _staring_ eyes all wide and shiny, and Kageyama wipes the towel over his mouth again.

“What, is there something on my face?”

Hinata’s shoulders stiffen, but he shakes his head.

“Then what are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” He says, and then he shrinks, and Kageyama watches the fingers of his free hand dig into the fabric of his shorts. “Your hair’s all messy.”

Sure enough, it is. Kageyama flattens it down with his palm. It’s still sweaty, damp and lank but at least it’s lying flat, and Hinata seems to have relaxed a little. He pinches his water bottle between his hands, tugs the top open and pushes it shut over and over, and he’s back to worrying his lip between his teeth, eyeing Kageyama with an odd little frown like he’s thinking a little too hard about something.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Kageyama says, and Hinata sucks in a quick, sharp breath. His lip is red and swollen from his chewing it, little tooth marks embedded in wet skin, and Kageyama wonders, briefly, what it might be like to run his tongue along the welts.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and Kageyama has to shake his head to get rid of it. Hinata squeezes the water bottle harder, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but whatever it is is drowned in the shrill cry of a whistle as Ukai orders them all back to practice.  

* * *

He isn’t sure _why_ , but there’s something about Hinata today that makes his head feel...fuzzy, uncoordinated, like he’s stuffed ear to ear with cotton too thick to think through. Maybe it isn’t Hinata at all; maybe it’s that it’s a Sunday, and it’s the last night of a week-long training camp and he is bone-tired, exhausted, falling apart at the seams with every tick of the clock.

But Kageyama isn’t convinced.

He isn’t, because his brain is working about as well as it’s ever worked so long as Hinata isn’t in the room.

Like, he’d been okay at lunch. Hinata had taken his plate to a far bench, squeezed between Kuroo and Kenma with his back to Kageyama’s table, and Kageyama turned his back, too, and thinking became a little easier after that.

And he’d been okay before dinner, practicing tosses with Yachi in the small gym while Hinata pranced around with whoever the hell he’d latched himself onto. Kageyama didn’t mind; hell, he’d _enjoyed_ a little reprieve, a chance to recuperate, to rest his foggy mind for just a little while.

But then they ate, and they bathed, and they dressed for bed and Hinata was by his side the _entire_ time and Kageyama couldn’t think straight.

He still can’t, either, because everybody else has wandered from the room and he is alone, with Hinata, sitting cross-legged on his futon with a volleyball spinning between his fingers, trying desperately to keep his eyes off of Hinata’s mouth.

“Hey, roll it to me.”

Kageyama looks up from the whirl of red and white and green to see Hinata. He’s shoved his futon and the blankets to one side and he’s sitting on his heels, hands plastered over his knees. Bruises litter the skin of his thighs and forearms, battle scars from a weeks worth of drills, and Kageyama maps the mottled yellows and greens and blues like constellations.

He traps the ball still between his palms and watches the way Hinata’s thumbs scrape over one another, catching loose skin and picking until red globs of blood pool so close to the surface they might start pouring through.

Kageyama shoves his futon out the way, too, and rearranges his legs until he’s kneeling, face to face with Hinata.

“C’mon, stupid, roll the ball.”

Kageyama does, slides the ball over the floor and watches it twist it’s way right to Hinata’s knees. He catches it, rolls it back.

“Practice was super good today, huh?” He says. The leather makes a soft hush as it rolls over the wood, and Hinata rattles on, voice growing louder and more boisterous and Kageyama looks up at him to watch as he grows more and more animated. His hair is still a little damp from the shower so it’s sitting flatter than usual, curling loose over his forehead, and there’s a weird kind of light in his eyes that must be a reflection of the overheads, it has to be, because nobody has eyes that glow that bright.

“You were good,” he says. Hinata’s eyes focus in on him so fast, it must have given him a headache. “Not all the time. Most of the time you sucked, but you did some good things.”

“Geez, thanks Kageyama.”

Kageyama thinks it’s probably half-sincere, seeing as he never gives Hinata anything close to compliments, ever, and even though he’s frowning, that light is burning even brighter in his eyes and Kageyama has to look away so it doesn’t blind him.

“I _am_ getting better at recieves,” Hinata says, catches the ball between them and shuffles closer, so close there is only the ball settled on the floor separating their knees from knocking. “Right? And _most_ of my serves make it over the net now, and I’ve got way more power in my spikes.”

He goes off again, all _fwuaa_ ’s and _gwah_ ’s and Kageyama can barely keep up, because Hinata is so close he can smell his shampoo, feel his breath on his face, see the way his lips and tongue and teeth spin words, and it’s so strangely overwhelming that Kageyama has to grab onto the volleyball to steady himself.

Hinata stops talking. It’s an abrupt change, a weird, stilling kind of silence and it takes Kageyama a moment to realise what has happened.

His fingers are knotted against Hinata’s, clumsily woven over them to pinch at the leather. Hinata’s skin is warm and soft, rough over his knuckles where they are scraped and grazed. His fingers twitch beneath Kageyama’s grip.

Kageyama yanks his hands back, abrupt. They _burn_ ; itchy and stinging where Hinata’s fingers have been. Hinata is looking up at his with big, blown eyes and flushed cheeks, blood bruising the skin so red Kageyama thinks it might start leaking right out of him. He isn’t sure if the white of his knuckles is because literally _all_ of the blood in his body is filing straight to his face or because he’s grip the volleyball so hard there are little dents dipping into it.

He gets out half an apology before Hinata is moving.

Kageyama isn’t sure if time speeds up or slows down. Hinata comes at him quickly, so fast Kageyama doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but even then Kageyama can see _everything_. He can see the way Hinata braces his weight on his hands where they rest on the ball, on his knees against the hard wood. He can see the strain of his arms, the muscles bunching below his elbows as he pushes himself up and he can see the weird, panicked look in his eyes, like he’s hurtling down a big, black hole with no bottom in sight, and he can see the purse of his lips, so close to him now they’re a little pink blur in the middle of his face.

Kageyama’s first kiss was with a volleyball.

He was six, and the smooth, cool leather stung where it smacked to his mouth. It tasted like dirt, like dust and gym shoes and a little bit like sweat, too, and it stole the breath from his lungs and took his two front teeth away with it.

It...probably doesn’t count as a kiss, honestly, because balls don’t even have lips to kiss _with_ , but it made him fall in love with volleyball the way real kisses make boys fall in love with girls on the playground, so Kageyama thinks it’s probably good enough.

It didn’t matter that it hurt - that it bled, bust his nose and ripped his gums and stained his mouth in red and blue and purple - what mattered was that it was his first kiss, his _best_ kiss, and nothing was ever, ever going to change that.

His second kiss is with Hinata.

Hinata’s mouth is warm, and a little dry, and he is kissing him with puckered lips and puffed up cheeks, eyes squeezed so tight his whole face pinches in. Kageyama sucks in a breath through his nose.

This is happening. It’s real, Hinata is _kissing_ him and it’s...probably terrible, objectively; maybe the worst kiss in the history of the world - worse than his very first one, definitely - but his heart is _rattling_ , bumping hard and fast against his ribs, so strong he thinks it might beat it’s way right out of him. His face is red, hot, blood blooming under the skin and his throat is so dry it’s raw, and his stomach is knotted, and his knees ache where they dig into the wood floor and Hinata is _kissing him_.

Hinata pulls back after a second and slaps his palms over his cheeks.

“Sorry!” He says, slides some space between them and bends into a bow, so low his forehead thuds onto the ground at Kageyama’s knees. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Kageyama licks his lips. The skin at the back of Hinata’s neck is cherry red, and Kageyama can see the colour dipping below the collar of his shirt.

“Dumbass,” he says - chokes - and he hikes Hinata’s torso upright with a hand fisted in his shirt. He wants to yell, to pinch or punch or _something_ because Hinata just kissed him, on the mouth, out of _nowhere_ , but Hinata’s lips are pressed in a thin, wobbly line and his face is all pink, eyes big and wet and shiny and all the fight sinks right out of him.

“What was that for?”

Hinata rubs at his eyes and tucks his knees to his chest. He shrugs, and Kageyama watches thin, pale fingers pick at the skin of his toes. His feet wiggle against the flooring.

“You’ve been acting... _weird_ all day. All week. All _month_ _,_ ” he goes on. “Weirder than normal. What, are you sick or something?”

Hinata doesn’t say anything. He’s not even looking, anymore, and Kageyama watches the way his eyes rove until they glue to a spot on the wall. Kageyama trails over his profile, over one wide, brown eye and the arch of his cheek and the little upturned point of his nose, the line of his jaw and the pink, wobbly pout of his lips.

He looks good, even all flustered, and Kageyama bites at his lip to muffle the groan rumbling in his throat.

Ridiculous, he thinks, digs his fingers into his shorts, this is ridiculous. It’s stupid, he’s stupid, Hinata is stupid, and Kageyama is thinking this on a big, stupid loop even as he grabs Hinata by the chin and twists his face to kiss him again.

Hinata’s fingers grab at his elbows so fast, Kageyama thinks he was maybe waiting for this to happen. He pushes, presses so close their knees are touching, stretches up to push back against Kageyama’s mouth so hard their teeth wedge his bottom lip between them. It hurts, stings, but Hinata hums a desperate little whimper and opens his mouth and honestly, pain is the last thing on his mind.

They’re clumsy, Kageyama knows, messy and uncoordinated and they’re probably doing it wrong, but he doesn’t much care. It feels good, incredible even, and Hinata’s breath is hot where it pants out over his face, and he smells clean and fresh and damp strands of hair tickle against Kageyama’s forehead and everything about it is so, stupidly perfect.

“You suck at this.”

Hinata breaths the words with Kageyama’s bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He wants to argue - he _definitely_ doesn’t suck as much as Hinata does - but Hinata’s fingers are curling against the side of his neck, teasing the skin, sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck and all he can do is roll his eyes at every little touch.

It takes him a moment to bite his retort - “you suck more, idiot,” - and even then, it’s muffled by Hinata’s lips and the jerky, hesitant press of his tongue against his own.

That’s his third kiss.

His fourth is with Hinata, too, and his fifth and sixth and seventh - Kageyama isn’t sure when one kiss ends and another begins so maybe there are more, but he’s counting between breaths and he makes it to nine before the door slides open and a throat clears crisp and loud behind them.

Kageyama shoves a little distance between them, pushes at Hinata’s shoulders until they are arms length apart, and turns his face to the door. Suga is standing, shoulder braced to frame, arms folded over his chest and something like a smile creeping across his face.

“I just came to let you know,” he says, and Kageyama’s cheeks burn under his gaze, “that there are drinks and snacks over in the rec room, if you want to join us.”

Hinata gives a quiet, red-faced, “alright.” Kageyama squirms where he sits, and nods his head.

Suga watches them with his eyes a little pinched at the corners and, after a minute, turns from the room and slides the door closed behind him.

Kageyama’s stomach is churning. He feels cold, with Hinata sitting so much further away than before, and every part of him is weirdly itchy, wriggly, buzzing with a hot, restless kind of energy. Hinata knots his fingers together in his lap.

“So,” he says. Kageyama looks from his hands to his face to find Hinata staring right back at him. He looks bold enough, but there’s a quake to the corners of his mouth and goosebumps lift over his arms.

“So,” Kageyama says.

The air in the room feels awkward, stagnant, but it’s not...totally uncomfortable. Hinata is still here, still looking at him, still looking _good_ , and Kageyama is still breathing, heart still beating ragged in his chest.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Hinata blurts it out and slaps a palm over his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say it. Kageyama _should_ say the same; the volleyball doesn’t count, and if it did, Hinata has kissed _way_ more than he has, but pride sits thick in his throat and Kageyama folds his arms and scoffs.

“So that’s why you were shitty at it.”

Hinata is on him before he even notices him moving. He tackles him at the waist, arms curled right around his ribs and they topple, tumble back onto the knot of fabric where Kageyama’s futon, blankets and pillows lie, and Kageyama is engulfed by soft cotton and Hinata.

Kageyama is tensed for a scuffle, but Hinata doesn’t move to fight. Instead, he tightens his grip until they’re crushed together, and his face turns to press into Kageyama’s shirt. Kageyama looks up at the ceiling. The overheads are burning, so bright Kageyama has to squint, and he takes a few long, steady breaths with Hinata’s hair tickling at his chin.

“I wanted to.” Hinata’s voice is small, _so_ small, muffled against Kageyama’s chest. “Kiss you, I mean. For _ages_. Like, a super long time. Months, probably.”

Kageyama stays quiet. Hinata is hugging him impossibly tighter, and Kageyama can feel the way his fingers grip into the back of his shirt.

“But you’re like... _really_ scary sometimes, you know?”

“Am not,” Kageyama says. He reaches up, digs his fingers into Hinata’s hair and rubs roughly at his scalp. Hinata lifts his head; he’s got one eye winked closed against Kageyama’s assault and he shoves his tongue from his mouth, digs his chin into Kageyama’s chest hard enough to hurt.

“Are so,” he says, and rests his cheek right over Kageyama’s breastbone. “You look angry _all_ the time. It’s hard to tell someone you like them when they always look mad at you.”

Kageyama can feel his heart hammering, knows Hinata must be able to feel it too, and he sucks in a sharp breath and blows it out through his nose. Hinata’s hair ruffles against his chin.

As much as he’s never thought about kissing, he’s never thought about _liking_ anybody either. It’s always been some weird, unknowable concept; Kageyama likes volleyball, and he likes his family, and he likes his team, but the kind of _like_ Hinata is talking about involves kissing, and that is a kind of like Kageyama never really saw for himself.

But, he supposes he kind of _does_ like Hinata. They play volleyball all the time, and they eat together, they do their homework together, they sit together on the bus and they sleep next to each other at camps and he is apparently Very _Not_ against the idea of kissing. Not to mention, Hinata does look nice (all the time, which isn’t fair when Kageyama looks grumpy and moody and the exact opposite of _nice_ ), so nice it makes Kageyama’s stomach hurt sometimes.

“You’re okay, I guess,” Kageyama says. Hinata pinches at the skin of his back.

“ _Oi_ ,” he says, “What does that even mean, " _you're okay"?_ You-you either like me or you don’t, _bakageyama_.”

“I don’t,” Kageyama says, and Hinata sucks in a quick, sharp breath. “I don’t _not_ like you.”

Hinata’s head pops up again. He’s squinting, suspicious, with his bottom lip a little pouted and his cheeks a little flushed, and Kageyama cranes his neck to kiss him. He catches his brow, presses his lips to the crumpled skin and settles back again to look at him.

He looks _cute_. Eyes wide, mouth open in a tiny, slack ‘o’, the pink dusting over his cheeks growing darker by the second, and Kageyama rubs the back of his hand over his mouth to hide the wobbly smile budding across his face.

“Do you like me enough to kiss me some more?” Hinata says. Kageyama is looking back at the ceiling; it’s too much, looking Hinata in the face, but he nods his head all the same and Hinata scrambles his way up his body, sits over his chest with his palms pressed into the blankets, bracing his weight to catch Kageyama’s eye. “To hold hands and stuff? To _cuddle?_ ”

“I guess,” Kageyama says. His face is so hot it’s almost painful, and Hinata’s smile is _blinding_.

* * *

Kageyama’s ninety-third kiss is with a volleyball.

He is sixteen, and he is paying no attention to the serve Asahi sails over the net.

He is paying no attention, because Hinata is standing on the other side of the court with his shirt rucked up to his chest, wiping sweat from his cheeks with the hem. He is paying no attention because Hinata’s shorts sit too low on his hips, so low he can see sharp lines of muscle arching below the waistband, and Kageyama is too busy staring at the exposed skin to notice the way his eyes grow wide, the way his mouth pops open, and he only notices something is wrong when Hinata’s shirt drops back over his stomach and the ball collides with his face.

He wakes with hands rolling him onto his side. His nose is dripping, and there’s a nasty metallic tang on his tongue, and everyone around him is loud and panicked and Kageyama shoves several arms out of his way with a clumsy, searching hand.

“I’m fine,” he says, pushes himself up on his elbow. Drops of deep red litter the floor beneath him. He blinks, squeezes the bridge of his nose and sucks a few breaths through his mouth.

“You need to be more careful,” Suga says - admonishes, almost - and Kageyama looks up at him, and at Daichi, who is holding a tearful Asahi by the shoulders and speaking too quietly to hear, and at Noya and Tanaka, who are looking at him with something like concern, but there is an edge of amusement in their eyes and Kageyama _knows_ they’re waiting for the okay to start laughing.

And then he looks at Hinata.

His hand is the only one to remain on his shoulder and it does so with a tight, tense grip, blunt nails digging into his skin through his shirt. His face is pale, eyes wide, and he is biting his lip so hard Kageyama thinks it might start bleeding.

“Relax,” he says, grabs the hem of his shirt and cups it over his bleeding nose. “I’m fine.”

“You passed out,” Hinata says, and his hand loosens it’s grip to punch Kageyama in the shoulder.

“For like a _second_.”

“ _Eight_ seconds. You could have choked on nose blood and _died,_ stupid.” Hinata continues talking, raining insults even as Suga hands him a cloth and he shoves Kageyama’s hand out the way, presses the cloth over Kageyama’s face instead. “Idiot, _dumbass_.”

“Like you can talk,” Kageyama says, voice thick and muffled behind the cloth. He pinches at the skin of Hinata’s thigh - it’s the closest part he can _reach_ \- and Hinata’s whole body jolts.  “You're the dumbass.”

They bicker back and forth for a few minutes before the bleeding stops. There are prying, watchful eyes on them the whole time, and Kageyama can see smirks and exchanged glances out the corner of his eye.

Suga takes a look at the damage when Hinata pulls the cloth away, and after a few cautious prods he nods his head.

“It’s not broken,” he says, “but you should sit out for a little while, just in case. Hinata, why don’t you sit with him? And clean him up a little, would you?”

They both nod. Kageyama would argue, but honest truth his face hurts a little, and his mouth tastes like iron, and Hinata is sitting close and warm and Kageyama is relatively comfortable like this. Hinata walks with him to the bench, and once they sit, he starts wiping the dried blood from Kageyama’s lips and chin and cheeks.

“Don’t _look_ at me like that while we’re playing,” Hinata hisses, and Kageyama’s eyes pull wide. He’d hoped, honestly, that Hinata hadn’t noticed. Kageyama casts a wary glance around. The team are back to drills, but Kageyama notices several quick takes in their very general direction. Tanaka mouths something behind his hand, and Noya grins, flicks his gaze to Kageyama and back again.

“Don’t do stuff like that, then,” Kageyama grumbles. Hinata’s knee brushes over his thigh. His fingers are warm and a little rough where they hold his jaw, and his face is so close Kageyama can feel wisps of hair against his chin. It gets more dizzying by the day, being this close to Hinata.

Kageyama had never really thought about kissing, and he’d never really thought about liking anybody either, but with Hinata tucked on the bench in front of him, hands on his face, breath on his neck, Kageyama is thinking about both of those things an overwhelming amount.

Hinata looks up with a retort ready on his tongue, but Kageyama shuts him up before he can even begin.

Kageyama’s ninety-fourth kiss is with Hinata, and the crowd goes _wild_.

**Author's Note:**

> i have definitely been happier with fics but!! I am in no position to be fussy rn because writers block???? is hell???? and I am seemingly forever falling into it. I might re-write it one day when I am feeling Less terrible abt writing as a w h o l e. Anyway!! Thank you so so much for reading and for any likes/comments/bookmarks/whatever I love you all lots for sticking w/ my lame ass 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes if u wanna like idk scream? about kagehina? come at me


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